65. Summer 517
They spotted the sign from a ravosala while travelling from the employment centre to the inn: small and almost overgrown by the lush vegetation surrounding it. The ravosalaman was a cheerful individual and as soon as he had realized that they were no locals, he had insisted on giving them a small tour of “Rhysol’s paradise”, as he called the city. Back in Syliras, Rhysol’s name had been the curse upon a traitor’s lips. In Zeltiva, he was scarcely spoken about, but the name carried a certain gloom. It was different in Ravok: Rhysol was revered here – and Rhysol alone. As always, Oleander chose to keep his mouth shut about other people’s beliefs and practised his own in private. If Hortense had any concerns, she was smart enough not to voice them. Most citizens treated them with contemptuous disregard, save the ones craving their money – like this ravosalaman, who probably hoped for a generous tip.
“Curious”, Hortense remarked, leaning forward to decipher the words painted across the sign in a delicate hand, “how do they grow half a forest in the middle of a lake? And why?”
The smile across the ravosalaman’s face faltered for a tick as he attempted to steady his precariously swaying vessel, but it returned when Hortense sat back again. Oleander felt a little nauseous, but could not tell whether it came from the way the Ravokian looked at his sister or the shaking of their boat. His own gaze followed Hortense’s pointed finger to the green front – ivy and vines wound through the fence and climbed the sign, cherry laurel, privet and a few bushes Oleander did not recognize claimed space and some water-loving species crawled from the terrace into the black water of Lake Ravok.
“That’s Café Fleurs”, the ravosalaman explained once he had the ravosala back under control, “It’s cosy. They have tea and food.” He steered the boat onwards, but Hortense stopped him: “I think we need a break.”
“Yes”, Oleander agreed, “why don’t you drop us off here?” The café sounded promising – like a place he and his sister might both enjoy, which was a rare combination. The ravosalaman did not look very happy about it, but he obliged. He seemed to memorize their faces while they paid him and a shiver ran down Oleander’s spine. He quickly pulled Hortense to the shore and both of them watched as the ravosalaman turned his vessel around and departed; only then did they turn their backs on him and focus on the café. Behind its curtains of green, it was light-flooded and beautiful. A small terrace sat in front of the building’s entrance, shielded from passing ravosalas by greenery. A few citizens sat with a steaming cup and a pastry, deep in conversation and paying the twins no mind. As usual, Hortense was the first to peak into the actual café, pulling Oleander along as she went. The interior was a little darker, but no less comfortable. Herbal scents welcomed Oleander in, rose and mint and cinnamon and multiple things he wanted to find out about. Hortense’s longing gaze was fixed on a strawberry turnover that was displayed in a spotlight position on top of a polished bar.
Light flooding in from the second terrace behind the café illuminated the face of the man behind the counter: It was pleasant and refined and belonged to a middle-aged man who introduced himself as Darnel, the café’s owner. Oleander ordered two pastries – a strawberry turnover and a blueberry muffin – and a “Lemon Bliss” for each of them (because he thought it sounded interesting) and they settled on the backside terrace with their plates and mugs, nestled in a corner underneath the red-and-green vines.
“Curious”, Hortense remarked, leaning forward to decipher the words painted across the sign in a delicate hand, “how do they grow half a forest in the middle of a lake? And why?”
The smile across the ravosalaman’s face faltered for a tick as he attempted to steady his precariously swaying vessel, but it returned when Hortense sat back again. Oleander felt a little nauseous, but could not tell whether it came from the way the Ravokian looked at his sister or the shaking of their boat. His own gaze followed Hortense’s pointed finger to the green front – ivy and vines wound through the fence and climbed the sign, cherry laurel, privet and a few bushes Oleander did not recognize claimed space and some water-loving species crawled from the terrace into the black water of Lake Ravok.
“That’s Café Fleurs”, the ravosalaman explained once he had the ravosala back under control, “It’s cosy. They have tea and food.” He steered the boat onwards, but Hortense stopped him: “I think we need a break.”
“Yes”, Oleander agreed, “why don’t you drop us off here?” The café sounded promising – like a place he and his sister might both enjoy, which was a rare combination. The ravosalaman did not look very happy about it, but he obliged. He seemed to memorize their faces while they paid him and a shiver ran down Oleander’s spine. He quickly pulled Hortense to the shore and both of them watched as the ravosalaman turned his vessel around and departed; only then did they turn their backs on him and focus on the café. Behind its curtains of green, it was light-flooded and beautiful. A small terrace sat in front of the building’s entrance, shielded from passing ravosalas by greenery. A few citizens sat with a steaming cup and a pastry, deep in conversation and paying the twins no mind. As usual, Hortense was the first to peak into the actual café, pulling Oleander along as she went. The interior was a little darker, but no less comfortable. Herbal scents welcomed Oleander in, rose and mint and cinnamon and multiple things he wanted to find out about. Hortense’s longing gaze was fixed on a strawberry turnover that was displayed in a spotlight position on top of a polished bar.
Light flooding in from the second terrace behind the café illuminated the face of the man behind the counter: It was pleasant and refined and belonged to a middle-aged man who introduced himself as Darnel, the café’s owner. Oleander ordered two pastries – a strawberry turnover and a blueberry muffin – and a “Lemon Bliss” for each of them (because he thought it sounded interesting) and they settled on the backside terrace with their plates and mugs, nestled in a corner underneath the red-and-green vines.
